25 August 2007 | 1059 words
Title: Pink Milk
Characters: Little Faramir meets The Visitors
Disclaimer: not my characters, none of them!
Notes: After the weirdness of Past present, present past, my brain seems to have reverted to total silliness. Perhaps only brigantine1 will get this, but maybe there are other fans of fantastically funny kids’ early morning telly out there that I don’t know about. Oh and ‘bloodroot’ is purloined from the fertile garden of farothiel’s imagination.
‘Faramir! Faramir! Your visitors have arrived! Come and say hello!’
But Faramir didn’t like Visitors and he didn’t want to say Hello.
‘Faramir? Don’t you want to come and play?’
No. He only liked playing with Boromir. But Boromir had gone away to visit Uncle Imrahil because he was Nearly Grown Up and so had to do Nearly Grown Up things that Faramir couldn’t join in with.
‘Faramir? Where are you? Aren’t you going to show yourself?’
Not if he could help it. He didn’t like Visitors and he didn’t like No Boromir.
They’d never find him here. Only Boromir knew about this place. He could stay here all day if he wanted and never have to meet The Visitors at all.
‘He’ll come out when he’s ready’, he heard his father explain. ‘Bit shy. He’ll get over it.’
Faramir snorted. He wasn’t shy! He just didn’t like Visitors.
But in the end it was boring in his hiding place without Boromir for company – nobody to tell him stories, nobody to laugh with, nobody to tickle with a stray wisp of hay. Maybe he should give in and go meet The Visitors after all…
He’d follow the slow twisty way to the Great Hall, visiting all his favourite places along the way, put off the awful moment for as long as possible.
First he went to see the ponies in the stables. The horses were magnificent but Very Big. The ponies were much more his size, especially Nibs, the smallest of them all and his special friend. Nibs was sturdy and brave and always knew just where Faramir had hidden a treat about his person.
But Nibs didn’t usually wear bows in his mane. Nor in his tail. Bows that looked like butterflies, butterflies that flittered and fluttered when Nibs shook his head in greeting. Red bows and blue bows and green bows. Faramir was so astonished he almost forgot to give Nibs his treat, despite the pony’s determined attack on his pocket.
‘Why are you all dressed up, Nibs?’ he asked. But Nibs was far too occupied with munching on his carrot to reply.
Puzzled, Faramir left Nibs to his own business and wandered off towards the kennels to see the hounds instead. They were always ready for a gambol and a game!
In fact a somewhat boisterous game appeared to already be in progress. Shreds of coloured cloth were flying everywhere – yellow and pink and purple – and more than a few hounds were engaged in vigorous bouts of tug-o’-war involving the last remnants of what had once been a fine collection of ribbons.
One dozing dog had escaped the frenzy and still bore a beautifully tied lilac bow around his neck. All the others had been ripped to smithereens. First Nibs wearing butterflies and now the hounds dressed up in ribbons! Whatever next?
Faramir decided to make one final stop at the dairy before facing the horror of The Visitors. He sneaked a peek around the door, but found the place in uproar! The dairymaids were all a-fluster and a-flummoxed! Some prankster had slipped bloodroot into the churns and the vats and there wasn’t a drop of pure white milk to be had anywhere!
By now thoroughly confused and thinking it probably best not to ask for a drink just at that moment, Faramir slipped back outside.
Only to be confronted by a Very Bouncy Somebody who might just be one of The Visitors.
A Somebody who appeared to have discovered the dressing-up box.
A Somebody wearing a golden crown and sky-blue mantle and waving a wooden sword in a most disturbing manner.
A Somebody whose golden hair was tied with ribbons and dancing with butterfly bows.
‘Hello!’ said the Somebody. ‘I’m the Princess of Minnistwith! Welcome to my new castle! Are you a Prince?’
Faramir felt himself go as red as one of Nibs’ own butterflies.
‘Erm, no… I’m a Faramir…’
The Princess’ crown slipped down over one eye. She pushed it back up but only for it to slide down over the other.
‘Well you can be my Prince, Famamir. Prince Famamir of Minnistwith! Here – have a ribbon!’
The Princess pulled one of the crumpled bands from her hair.
‘Now tie up your hair in a tail like a pony then it will be all out of the way when we go riding!’
‘Riding. On our horses. All pretty with butterflies and the dogs all smart with bows!’
And as Faramir obeyed the royal command, the Princess mounted her previously invisible steed, grasped the reins and motioned for the newly-made Prince to join her.
‘Come on! Race you!’
The Princess brandished her sword bravely, span round and took to her heels.
Only to get horribly tangled in her long skirt and fall flat on her face. The crown rolled away but the Princess was back on her feet to rescue it, cramming it firmly down as she tucked her skirts up into her girdle and scampered into the distance, sword still waving.
His mouth was dry and there was a funny feeling in Faramir’s stomach, one he’d never known before. He wanted more than anything to race after the Princess. He knew then and there that he’d follow her anywhere and forever. But he was rooted to the spot and couldn’t move.
Gradually he became aware that he’d been joined by Another Somebody.
A Boy, this time.
A Boy who smiled and offered to share a large mug of Very Pink Milk.
The Boy nodded towards the cloud of dust that was now all that was to be seen of the Princess.
‘I have this little sister, Éowyn. She’s small. And very funny…’
And if you don’t already know about Pink Milk, here’s a drop of it from Charlie and Lola who always manage to put a grin on my face of a morning!
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